Press
by purpleturnips
Summary: Sara teases Tegan underneath the table during an interview with the press. Quincest one-shot. Smut.


Underneath the table, I can feel the side of her hand smooth along the edge of my thigh. She traces slow patterns with the tip of her finger so lightly, I can barely feel it. Indiscriminately feeling up my leg with her fingertips, she never breaks eye contact with the woman in front of us, who is interviewing us for a magazine article. She's paired with a photographer, who snaps a photo here and there. We sit grouped together in the kitchen of our tour bus. The interviewer and her sidekick are oblivious to the fact that Sara's hand has been carefully inching its way closer to the middle of my thighs over the past half hour. I smile and nod politely, sufficiently ignoring my sister's nimble fingers as they trace the seams of my jeans.

Another question asked. This time, Sara answers. I allow myself to look at her by my side, nestled between me and the window. She uses her free hand to aid her answer, waving it in the air in front of her. I watch her lips move as she speaks, the slight lisp on her 'S's making me smile. I've tuned out what she's actually saying, instead focusing on the sound of her voice and the way her fingers feel on my thigh as she draws figure eights through tight denim. My arms are crossed as I lean on the table-top. The photographer snaps another picture and I turn my head back to face the press.

The interviewer directs a question to me and I take my time to answer. I can feel Sara's eyes on me while I talk. She's daring me to push her hand away. She knows how paranoid it makes me and how nervous I am because of it. I can't do anything to stop her without looking suspicious. Sara's hand may be hidden by the table, but if I lift my arms or try to nudge her hand away, it would look too risky. I settle instead with letting Sara have her way. She tucks her free hand to hold her head and leans a little further away. The hand between us, however, moves closer to me. Like a spider zoning in on its kill, Sara's index and middle fingers walk up the side of my thigh as slow as possible. The interviewer asks another question and I answer it when Sara doesn't speak up. Her fingers inch their way closer and I pause in the middle of my sentence to swallow the lump growing in my throat. Her pinky is nestled in the valley between my legs. She takes her sweet time in sliding her middle finger directly above my mound. Not quite applying any pressure, but making me hyper aware of its presence.

One last question, the interviewer says. Sara picks up the slack and proceeds to tease me nonchalantly under the table. Her middle finger has begun to bear down on my groin and I try my best not to writhe against her hand. She pulls her middle and index fingers together and rests her wrist on my thigh. I grind my teeth as she begins to massage me while she continues to answer the interviewer's question. I bite my lip and stare past the woman's face, concentrating on suppressing the whine that's building up in the back of my throat. I plant my feet firm on the floor and try not to grind against my sister's fingers.

And then Sara's hand is gone from between my legs as she reaches over the table to shake the woman's hand. I squeeze my thighs together and shake the interviewer's hand before she gets up. We say our goodbyes and I slide out of the booth to the back of the bus. Locking myself in the bathroom, I unzip my jeans and slip them past my knees. I tuck my thumbs under the waistband of my underwear and slowly peel it away from the warm stickiness that's built up in my center. With a deliberate sweep of my fingers through the gooey wetness caused by Sara's tantalizing digits, I let my head fall to my chest. I raise my fingers to my face, coated with my own come.

A light tapping on the bathroom door almost causes me to jump out of my skin. Sara's hushed voice whispers through the thin barrier between us.

"Can I come in?"

I reach my dry hand over to the door and unlock it. Sara opens the door and slips inside, making sure to lock it behind her. When she sees me, pants and underwear slacked around my knobby knees, she doesn't waste time in dropping to the floor and taking my thighs in her hands. She slides her them up to my waist and grips my hipbones, holding me still as she brings her tongue out to taste me. Her head bobs between my legs as she delves her soft, velvety tongue through my folds. I use a hand to keep my balance on the sink while the other runs through Sara's hair, gripping her locks in my fist every time she strokes my clit with her tongue.

When I'm close to coming, I pull Sara's face from between my legs and bow to catch her lips with mine. She gets to her feet and cups me in her hand, feeling my excitement seep into her palm. Eyes closed, Sara slowly slips her middle finger inside of me. The drawn-out moan that escapes my lips causes her to grin into our open-mouthed kiss. She gently curls her finger against my tight walls and slips her digit back out before repeating the motion. I find her free hand on my side and grasp onto it for leverage.

Sara kisses me one last time and drops to her knees again. She buries her tongue into my cunt and I clench my teeth, tightening the grip on her hand holding me in place. My knees buckle when she swirls her tongue around my throbbing clit. My panting has gotten a little too loud and I know I'll have to hold my breath to keep from making any more noise. With Sara's fingers nestled and wiggling deep inside of me and her tongue expertly licking me in the perfect way, I lock my knees and pound my fist into the bathroom wall, feeling my muscles tense and relax. Sara keeps her fingers enveloped inside of me as I melt and ooze into her hand.

I look down at the girl between my legs, her chin and cheeks covered in my juices.

"God, I love interviews." I say, still breathing heavily from the exertion. Sara smiles and removes her hand before licking it clean and wiping her face with the back of it.

"Me too."


End file.
